


Father Christmas

by eatjins



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatjins/pseuds/eatjins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Christmas has a present for Hermann Gottlieb this year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of past!Vanessa/Hermann, their child, Sascha (named after Sasha Kaidonovsky), amicable divorce and set in canon many, many years later.
> 
> I apologise for completely mangling everything because this is my first fic in ages, my first PacRim fic, my first Newmann fic and it is completely unbeta-ed because I don't know where people find betas. I am obviously a recluse in this writing community thingamabob shebang.
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope it is still Christmas for my Pacific Rim Secret Santa recipient, chuchukelsey@Tumblr! I tried OTL

Hermann leans heavily against his cane as he gazes out of the window. A frown furrows his brows; snow was falling heavily on the grounds of the university and it was obvious that it was cold. With his every exhale, mist forms on the icy surface of the window glass. The laboratory was fairly warm and he was appropriately dressed for the Christmas season, but there was a nagging worry at the back of his mind.

“Herms, my man!” he turns slowly, the ache in his right leg worse during the colder seasons, and it seems his worries were not unfounded. Newton stands in the doorway to the laboratory wearing his unreasonable leather jacket, snow clumping in his hair and his hands trembling. Hermann notices a white paper bag, but he remains silent on that note for now. His frown deepens and he sighs.

“Newton, must you insist on catching your death in such frigid weather?” he asks disdainfully as he edges back towards his desk. There are finals papers left to grade before the holiday season descends upon them truly and Hermann is not one to delay his responsibilities. He never has been. Newton smiles at him, that little smile that insists ‘ _I know you don’t really mean that_ ’, and plops onto his own wheeled chair, sliding over.

The bespectacled git, Hermann refers to him as such because he only wears his own glasses when necessary during reading, bumps into several boxes along the way and those boxes _jingle_. He shudders to think of what those boxes contain, if the grin on Newton’s face is anything to guess by.

“Come on, Herms! It’s Christmas season, don’t be such a— party pooper,” Hermann peers up from his stack of papers to grade, if only to wonder what Newton had originally intended to call him before he decided to settle on ‘party pooper’. As if it was the tamer version of any insult he’d intended to toss at Hermann prior. How comforting. He resists the urge to massage his bad leg and shakes his head at Newton disapprovingly. The university doesn’t pay them during working hours to slack off. The students don’t pay ridiculous amounts of tuition for him to indulge in _shenanigans_.

“Alright, well, if you’re going to be such an ass with a stick up you,” Newton sticks his tongue out childishly and Hermann only notices the use of an affectionate nickname for him when there’s lack of it. By then, it’s too late to snipe at Newton for using it again and the other does look faintly upset. God only knows why, but Hermann doesn’t bother himself to think of the reasons. It is much easier to turn back to his finals papers and focus on grading them. 

He hears the sounds of boxes being opened and the ominous jingle of Christmas decorations. However, he resolutely keeps his eyes on the papers he has to grade. Hermann eventually forgets about the busy hustle and bustle of Newton around him, to the point where he dozes off in his chair while reading through one of his students’ essays.

 

 

 

 

 

Someone humming near his ear startles him from his sleep and Hermann looks around bewildered, like a student caught falling asleep in class. In front of his eyes, Newton smiles broadly and Hermann realises he was humming a Christmas carol although it sounds a little unconventional.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” the teasing nickname discomfits Hermann and he can feel his metaphorical hackles rising, but he bites his lips and doesn’t hiss. It is almost Christmas, he is an adult, they have survived a war together in their time and he will behave reasonably. Newton’s smile falters, as if disappointed, but Hermann dismisses it as a figure of his imagination.

In that second, a switch turns on in his head and he begins to notice the Christmas decorations around the laboration. Nothing elaborate or artistic enough to crow about, just enough to be warm and inviting; a plebian attempt at creating Christmas spirit, if anything. Hermann pauses and looks to Newton, who has straightened up and stares back at him. There’s an invitation in his eyes: yeah? C’mon, fight me, Herms.

Tinsel hangs around them, shiny glittering balls popping up left, right, center from any available surface to hook them onto and Christmas lights have been taped onto the window surface in odd shapes. Constellations of stars, maybe?

The ache in his leg comes back to him and he flexes his hand — it never helps to ease the pain. He has a snide comment on the tip of his tongue, ready to lash out at Newton Geiszler, six doctorate holder, a bloody goddamned genius whose only hobby now seems to be remaining the biggest thorn in Hermann’s side. Instead, he leans back in his seat and stretches inconspicuously, twisting his body a little ways here and some ways there.

“I see you’ve spent your office hours decorating, Newton. Your effort looks surprisingly easy on the eyes,” said multiple doctorate holder gapes at him for a moment, gobsmacked, then proceeds to snort.

“Never could just give a compliment straight, could you, Herms?” the edge to Newton’s smile is _fond_ and Hermann has no idea what to do with that. He reaches for his cane and rises to his feet, turning away from that gentle expression. His colleague may be plenty of things, but tender is not something that he’s accustomed himself to seeing on the other’s face. Perhaps on a different year, things would be less peculiar. This year, his divorce with Vanessa and the ensuing chaos surrounding an amicable separation has left him rather... wrongfooted.

A glance to his watch tells him it is getting late. He will have to take his grading home in a packet and hire a cab to fetch him. Feeling the smooth grip of his cane in his hand, he turns around to announce his leave. Except.

“Hey, Herms, isn’t it about time you have to swing by to go pick Sascha?” he nods wordlessly, walking over to his desk to organise his papers and to pack them into his satchel. Slinging it around his shoulders when he’s done, Hermann looks up to Newton studying him with a strange face. He thinks he’s seen that face before. He remembers seeing that face, when Newton was figuring out the odds of him dying during a drift with “only part of the kaiju’s brain, really”. 

“Is there something you’d like to say?” Hermann asks as he pulls on his gloves, his scarf, the additional coat on top of his indoor winter wear. He hopes Vanessa had the sense to remember to tell Sascha to dress warmly. He hopes Sascha had the sense to listen to his mother. He is not Russian, no matter how much he dreams of becoming like his namesake. 

“For you, and Sascha. And Vanessa too, I guess, I mean, I don’t know if you guys are hanging out this Christmas or if that’s not a thing that’s down with—”

“Newton. Vanessa will be abroad for the holidays, Sascha has opted to stay with me because he prefers not to travel,” he doesn’t add the silent ‘if it’s not to Russia’. Newton chuckles anyway and nudges the white paper bag that he’d come in with towards Hermann. It’s a simple takeaway bag from the nearby cafe on campus, but Hermann cannot imagine what Newton could’ve possibly decided to buy them. He nods his head and thanks Newton, but leaves the package for Sascha to unravel.

“I must be on my way then. I will see you—” he is about to bid Newton farewell for the holidays, until the New Year, because their schedules do not coincide before then. Yet, Newton interrupts him and asks.

“Can I come over for Christmas?”

And against his better judgement, or if anyone asks, he’ll say it was because he did not wish to be late in picking his son up, Hermann nods an obliging yes and leaves wordlessly.

 

 

 

 

Christmas day comes quietly, sneaking up on Hermann while he isn’t paying too much attention to it. The white paper bag of Christmas cookies that Newton had gifted to him has already been finished by Sascha, who asks if he can attend a party with his friends for the evening. Hermann sees no reason not to oblige his son. 

Sascha smiled before leaving and gave him a hug as he waved goodbye. Hermann doesn’t think he is a bad father; Vanessa has never once expressed her displeasure and Sascha doesn’t seem to begrudge him the way he parents.

Family has just never been about sitting around a table together, sharing a meal and drinking hot chocolate around the Christmas tree as presents are exchanged. Hermann sends off a polite email to Vanessa enquiring about her health and the holiday that she’s on, wishing her a blessed Christmas. 

Then he spends the afternoon in an armchair, listening to an old Michael Bublé Christmas album that his ex-wife had left behind. He doesn’t know what time it is when the doorbell rings, but he ambles forward to the door at a relaxed pace with his cane supporting his uneven weight.

Father Christmas’s gift to him must be a good day with his leg because it only twinges minimally as the door swings open and a nervous Newton stands at the door, rubbing his palm on his pants.

“Merry Christmas, Hermann,” Newton says in an uncharacteristically solemn manner. Hermann blinks and he steps back to allow Newton into his home.

“Merry Christmas, Newton,” his tone mirrors Newton’s unconsciously. It reminds Hermann of confidential meetings in the PPDC, discussing their hopes of survival in the past, when even then Newton had been bright, loud and optimistic. 

It’s unusual to see Newton so muted and he’s been by plenty of times prior, it’s not his first visit to the Gottlieb residence. Not even his first time after Vanessa had left the home, temporarily taking Sascha with her.

Hermann is at a loss for what to say. It’s not uncommon lately, between the both of them. Merely worse when he is supposed to be a host within his own home. Newton heads to the sitting room, by the fireplace, and settles on the couch instead of any other seat. 

Instinctually, Hermann wants to offer him tea or some other beverage. He remembers the first time he’d done so, years ago, when Sascha was lying on the carpet on his belly. There had been a pointless row resulting from his offer and Newton resolutely insisting that Hermann need not be so formal with him.

Till today, he doesn’t know what to do with the swell of emotion that had accompanied Newton soothing Sascha who had burst into tears over their shouting match. He returns to his seat in the armchair and stares at the spot on the carpet, recalling the memory.

“Where’s your little soldier?” Newton asks and Hermann explains Sascha’s absence. Belatedly, he wonders if Newton had come over to visit Sascha instead. A trip wasted, if that was the case. 

“I’m afraid I can’t summon him back if you wanted to see him, Newton. You should’ve mentioned well ahead, if you expected him present,” Hermann adds after a brief moment’s pause with a stern gaze. 

A laugh bubbles up from Newton and Hermann glances at him, surprised. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Oh, you’re priceless. You think I’m here to see Sascha,” Newton is on his feet and walking over to the armchair. Hermann glares up defiantly.

“Well, I apologise for not being a mind reader, but it’s been over 15 years since we’ve engaged into invasive technology that connects our minds together,” and the words feel wrong the moment they leave his mouth, but Newton is grinning at him and leaning down, oddly close. The only people who have been this close to him in the past years were Vanessa and Sascha, his family members.

“Fucking idiot, I don’t need a Pons to tell you how I feel,” lips seal over his in a chaste manner. At the back of his head, he wants to chide Newton for vulgar language in his home. He and Vanessa had agreed that while they could not control environments out of their home, they would not allow swearing within it for Sascha’s sake.

Never mind that the teenager thought he needed to be properly foul mouthed to emulate his idol.

At the fore of his mind, he notes that Newton’s lips are chapped and need lipbalm, which he has in the pocket of his pants, but that he doesn’t want to pull away to offer.

Father Christmas had a better present in mind after all. His eyes slip shut as he leans forward, feeling the uncomfortable press of Newton’s glasses against his cheeks, and Hermann returns the kiss.


End file.
